


Lay Him Down

by OMSP



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMSP/pseuds/OMSP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John reflects on his time with Sherlock. And rages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Him Down

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for Let's Write Sherlock Songfic challenge. Loosely nased on "Brick Shithouse" by Placebo

He was sublime, this love of mine. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see him moving through my mind like smooth velvet. I can see him walking toward me with that Cheshire cat grin and those come-fuck-me eyes. His ebony curls swirl around his face like heavy storm clouds moving swiftly through the sky. I catch a glimpse of his thigh as it peeks through the slit in his sheet he wraps himself in and it makes me shiver. I hold out my arms and wait for my lover to step into them, only to be disappointed because I will never feel him against my body again. Instead I can only hover above and watch while my only love lies with my murderer.  
  
I met him in a lab at Bart’s. He borrowed my phone and told me my entire life story before I even uttered a word. He looked out of place in that lab in his unwrinkled, expensive suit and wild hair. When he spoke to me, his voice resonated throughout my body and set every nerve on fire.

Before I could marshal my thoughts into some semblance of order, he left abruptly, muttering something about a riding crop in the mortuary. I was utterly gobsmacked. Who was this man? He made me feel so wrong-footed and yet there was some kind of pull there. Something drew me to him so strongly that I probably would have lived in an alley with him if he’d asked.  
  
From then on it was the two of us against the world. I was sucked into his world of murder, mayhem, and the odd violent bout of boredom. He rebuffed my clumsy attempt to pull him that first night together, but it didn’t put me off. I think I loved him even then. I would have stayed no matter what. He frustrated me. He worried me. He often scared me and on one memorable occasion, he drugged me and conducted an experiment on me. I forgave him though. I always did.  
  
We’d been a team, a dynamic duo for months before he finally shocked the hell out of me. He and I had chased a suspect into a derelict building near the Thames. The bastard got away, though. My fault really. I tripped and fell rather badly and for the first time, he actually gave up the chase to ensure I was all right. When I shakily got to my feet, he grabbed me by the lapels of my coat and kissed me. Just laid one on me. Tongue and everything. I still don’t know why he did that but from then on, everything changed. When we got back to 221B, we barely made it to his bedroom before he had my clothes off and was sucking my cock. God. What a fucking night that was. Those puffed cupid lips wrapped so prettily around me. It was a sight I will never forget.  
  
We made love often after that. Sometimes it was just a raw fuck after a case. An adrenaline-fueled clashing of bodies driven purely by lust. Other times it was gentle and lasted for hours. He opened up to me in so many ways. He told me what drove him to that seven percent solution. It was never a need for the rush, it was what the drug did to his mind. He said it brought clarity to his chaotic thoughts that he’d never experienced before and **that** is what he became addicted to. I told him things I'd never dreamt of telling anyone else. Of how I missed my father who died too young. How I wished I could tell my mother about this part of me. This part that loved him. The words just came tumbling out and he listened with a careful ear. I never got the sense that he was doing the 'nod and smile' thing while impatiently waiting for his turn to speak. His beautiful face filled with concern and worry when I began to cry as I recounted some childhood scar that had never quite healed. He placed a slender finger on my face and swiftly brushed aside the tears as they fell. When I was finally at a loss for words, and on the verge of a good cry-out, He kissed me and oh how I reeled! The sad memories left my head as quickly as they'd come in, replaced with thoughts of lust and desire. His soft lips pressed against mine tasting of tea and nicotine and I lapped at them hungrily.  
  
It breaks my heart to recall those moments of how his body felt to me that first time together and every time since. I ache for what I've lost and I burn with anger at the way I lost it. Such betrayal, such wretched betrayal fills me with a violent wave of fury that makes me want to smash mirrors and hurl heavy chairs through plate glass.    
  
And now, as I hover above my Sherlock as he makes love to my killer, I feel that white-hot anger course through me until I could burst. I see his head thrown back in ecstasy as he rides him, his mouth parted and I want to invade his body with my ghostly one and force him to feel my pain and see the truth even he, the great genius, could not figure out. I want to invade my murderer and pulverize his insides with my fists so that he could have a faint idea of what I feel like all the time now.  
  
But I don't. I can't. I love him too much to hurt him. Instead I continue to watch, torturing myself. I listen, but when he fucks, he doesn't make a single sound. I'm not in his world anymore.


End file.
